


Bedtime Stories

by justanothermaniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: At least I do, Dark fluff, I'm making it a thing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, Sleepy Cuddles, Twincest, Uncle/Nephew Incest, is that a thing?, twins sharing childhood trauma memories, we love to see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/pseuds/justanothermaniac
Summary: "They say curiosity killed the cat", Jerome says, the smirk evident in his tone, "And I've killed many of those, as you're aware."
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Lila Valeska (implied), Jeremiah Valeska/Original Male Character(s), Jerome Valeska/Lila Valeska (mentioned), Jerome Valeska/Zachary/Trumble (mentioned)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	Bedtime Stories

"You never told me about 'em."

Jerome's voice is an unusual disturbance in the quiet of the night. It doesn't startle Jeremiah (he's not easily startled anymore) but it makes him blink his eyes open as he was close to dozing off, lulled to sleep by his brother's steady heartbeat beneath his ear and bis brother's fingers drawing circles on his bare back and shoulder.

"About who?", Jeremiah asks, an edge to his voice due to his near slumber. He reaches for Jerome's other hand laying still on the sheets and intertwines their fingers. He rubs his thumb over the calloused flesh, more for the sake of keeping himself awake than anything else, and maybe a little bit out of habit.

It's not as uncommon as Jeremiah's pride would prefer. Cuddling with Jerome. But he's found that after hours of flinging fists or knives or bullets at each other, which more often than not leads to tearing each other's clothes off, biting and scratching and pushing and pulling and finally, losing themselves in each other as was inevitable from the day they were born into a broken home...cuddling afterwards comes as natural as breathing.

Jeremiah is aware of how disgustingly romantic it sounds. However he's not sugar-coating anything - like he'd ever do that about any aspect of his relationship with Jerome. It's simply who they are, who they were probably always meant to be. He's spent the majority of his life in denial of that fact but now, after fifteen years of seperation, two occasions where he was forced to stumble through equal amounts of relief and grief and lastly, his rapid transformation from a quivering boy afraid of his reflection to a strutting man embracing it, Jeremiah sees no more need for denial.

It doesn't matter anyways. Nothing matters. He doubts anything has ever mattered.

He feels Jerome's lips against his forehead. "Y'know, the... _Wildes_."

He says the name with the same amount of mockery he uses when calling Jeremiah _Xander_ to aggravate him. However Jeremiah doesn't think he means it this time, not in the way he usually does. There's an underlying bitterness in his tone, which Jeremiah knows to stem from jealousy, the jealousy of having had to share Jeremiah for the majority of their lives.

Albeit he's using the term _share_ very generously here. Even living worlds apart from one another for over a decade, Jeremiah never felt connected to anyone that wasn't his brother. "Why do you want to know?"

Jerome has started to scratch over Jeremiah's back, not with the intent to hurt or mark. It's a gentle scrape of fingernails that makes Jeremiah's skin prickle and he hums in appreciation, melting against him.

"They say curiosity killed the cat", Jerome says, the smirk evident in his tone, "And I've killed many of those, as you're aware."

And Jeremiah huffs despite himself. He thinks he might be getting much too tolerant in regards to Jerome's antics but when Jerome lifts their intertwined hands to his lips and presses a small peck to each and every knuckle of Jeremiah's hand in addition to the tender massage, Jeremiah finds he doesn't care as much as he would.

He realizes though that he hasn't answered yet. "Howard and Beatrice."

It's strange, saying their names after so long. And interestingly enough, even though they've been a constant in Jeremiah's life for as long as he's attended St. Ignatius, he barely thinks about them at all, hasn't ever since he finished construction of his first underground maze. "They were elderly. It was too late for them to have children of their own, hence why they looked...elsewhere."

"What were they like?"

"Beatrice was..."

Jeremiah takes a second to remember his adoptive mother. He never called her that, only ever referred to her by her first name. "Quiet. Feeble, really. Barely ever spoke, never raised her voice. But she was sweet. She had a gentle smile."

Its an oddly sentimental thing to say for him. But despite everything that's happened, everything that's changed within him, Jeremiah still feels a certain fondness in his heart for Beatrice. She was a kind, good woman. She cared for others, she cared about Jeremiah and did what she could to make his stay with them as comfortable as possible. She was everything Lila Valeska wasn't, really. 

Beatrice never said it but Jeremiah knows that she wanted him to call her mother. And for some time, Jeremiah wished he could.

But Lila was his mother. She was vicious, a drunk, an addict and a cheap, perverted whore who never should've bared children. But she had. And Jeremiah was one of them.

(and at the time, acknowledging Lila as his mother was the only link to Jerome he had left.) 

"She didn't show that smile often", Jeremiah mumbles against Jerome's chest, "but when she did, you knew it was genuine. The first few months, I used to wake from nightmares and -!"

"I do hope those were about me?", Jerome murmurs against the top of his head and Jeremiah can't hold back a chuckle.

"Who else would they be about, brother dear?", he replies, prompting Jerome to sigh in what Jeremiah can only label as relief. "Anyway, I'd wake and...find her sitting next to the bed. Just watching me. And when I locked eyes with her...she smiled."

It was odd at first, the way Beatrice looked at him. There was a warmth in her eyes he'd never quite seen on anyone. He'd only ever known the way Lila looked at him and took that as default for a mother's mannerisms.

But of course he was just a child back then. The older he got, the more he understood that Lila's love wasn't a mother's love. Even when he was just seven years old old she'd have her eyes on him like a hawk on a mouse whenever she was sober enough, trembling fingers touching his hair, his cheeks, his lips...

Jerome once told him that he is somewhat glad that Jeremiah got out when he did. Jeremiah can see why. It didn't take her long to start using Jerome for her urges - had it been Jeremiah, it would have started even earlier.

"What about him?" Jerome asks, no longer stroking over Jeremiah's back but threading his fingers through his hair, something he used to do a lot when they were children. Granted, he'd pull his hair just as often but the familiarity of the gesture still brings Jeremiah a strange feeling of comfort, of home. Not that he would ever say that out loud, of course.

Thinking of Howard Wilde, Jeremiah is squeezing Jerome's hand tighter than before without realizing it. "He was condescending. And loud. He thoroughly enjoyed making use of his sophisticated vocabulary while screaming his lungs out. Very intimidating, which should explain why Beatrice was the way she was. I..."

Jeremiah tries to channel the swirl of emotions he used to feel when interacting with, or even just thinking about his adoptive father. He finds that he can't. He supposes it makes sense, given that the gas has dulled his range of emotions somewhat. However, even if he can't feel it anymore, he can still remember. "I was afraid of him. Of course I was, you remember how I used to be."

Jerome giggles, letting go of Jeremiah's hand and wrapping both arms around him to squeeze him as tightly as humanly possible. "Vividly, and sometimes I miss it! Frightened little kitten ya used to be ~"

Jeremiah tensed up in his hold but before he's able to start flailing his limbs to get out, Jerome shifts his grip, instead digging his fingernails into the plump flesh of Jeremiah's backside.

"Was he abusive? Did he hit you? Spank that little ass when ya didn't finish your caviar?", he whispers in Jeremiah's ear, as giddy as a child on Christmas Eve and Jeremiah rolls his eyes, despite Jerome not being able to see it due to their positions.

"Shut up and let me go", he hisses, pushing at Jerome's chest to heave himself off of him and lay down next to him instead. They're facing each other and Jeremiah's eyes have accustomed to the dark enough to make out the bright grin distorting Jerome's marred face even more.

It's rather childish but Jeremiah purses his lips and shoves at his face, making him giggle and catch his wrist. "C'mon, don't stop now!"

Jerome moves closer, the grip on Jeremiah's wrist remaining tight as their breaths mingle, causing Jeremiah's stomach to heat up. "I've always loved your bedtime stories, baby brother. Don't leave me hanging..."

He gently places Jeremiah's hand over his cheek, resting his own hand atop of it. The action knocks the breath out of him for a second but he quickly catches himself, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. "You're going to love this", he whispers to which Jerome gives an excited little screech. "Finally gettin' to the juicy part!"

Jeremiah huffs. He slides his hand out from under Jerome's as he shifts to lay on his back, hands folded and staring up at the ceiling. "I was eleven when he started. You know, to...touch me." 

Jerome whistles, poking Jeremiah's cheek with his index finger. "Where'd the bad man touch you, hmmm? Show me exactly what he did so I can understand better ~"

Jeremiah rolls his eyes and smacks his hand away. "Degenerate."

"When's the first time he fucked you?"

As always, Jerome cuts right to the chase. Jeremiah thinks for a second. "I think I was thirteen? I can't remember exactly. But I do remember that he called me into his study that evening. I could smell his whiskey breath from the hallway."

"What _is_ it with us Valeskas and abusive alcoholic caretakers?" Jerome flops down on his back as well, one arm behind his head, the other resting on Jeremiah's thigh on top of the covers. "I was twelve. I'll give you three chances to guess who it was."

"Zack."

"Ding, ding, ding! We got our winner!"

"I'm surprised he started before Lila did."

Jerome snickers, his fingers drumming an unknown rhythm on Jeremiah's thigh. "Lila did it cuz she was a horny slut. Dear ol' Unc was just running out of ideas to _discipline_ me. Guess making me his bitch was the next logical step."

Jeremiah doesn't answer, the words settling between them and fading into comfortable silence. Jerome's hand has stilled, resting warm and heavy on his thigh and Jeremiah places his own hand on top of it, their fingers intertwining once more. 

It's sort of disturbing. How casually they're talking about this, about the horrors of their childhood, the trauma that shaped their crippled souls and twisted minds, all the while caressing and holding each other like two long-lost lovers. They are, in a way. Jeremiah doesn't want to think it, to link anything about his relationship with his brother to romance. But it's a fact he can't deny and as mentioned above, there is no point in denial anyway.

"Hey." Jerome's voice is rough with fatigue. "Did you kill 'em? The Wildes?"

Jeremiah is silent for a long moment. Then, he shifts to drape an arm over Jerome's chest, settling once more so that he's half on top of him, ear resting above his heart. "That's a bedtime story for another night."

Jerome's arms wrap around him, not overly tight and obnoxious like before. He's holding Jeremiah gently, like always when they fall asleep together. "Buzzkill", he whispers, lips against Jeremiah's forehead. "G'night."

Jeremiah hopes Jerome doesn't notice that he cuddles a little bit closer. "Good night, Jerome."


End file.
